Evelyn
by Crimson Chakra Dragon Chains
Summary: What if there were different types of elves? What if Eragon was a female? What if her fighting style was completely different than that of canon Eragon? A retelling of Eragon and Inheritance Cycle Trilogy with twists and changes! Featuring a smarter and more mature female version of Eragon!


**Summary:** What if there were different types of elves? What if Eragon was a female? What if her fighting style was completely different than normal? A retelling of Eragon and Inheritance Cycle Trilogy with twists and changes! Featuring a smarter and more mature female version of Eragon!

* * *

"Normal Speech"

'_Private Thoughts'_

_Telepathic Communication or Emphasizing a Word_

**Ancient Language**

* * *

**Evelyn**

**Ch. 1 - A Stone**

* * *

Quiet as a snake. Still as stone. Staring like a hawk. These were words that would describe Evelyn as she was currently crouched, bow drawn in her hands, aiming an arrow at a small doe which walked with a pronounced limp. She was amazed that this creature had survived so long without a wolf or any other predator catching it.

As it was, her family needed food and hunting was a way to provide it.

She was unusual, different from other girls her age. They were fragile, weak, and normal. Not her. Evelyn rarely wore a dress, opting for a more comfortable and fit clothes such as skin-tight leather pants and a sleeveless shirt.

Unlike them, she hunted and worked. Her uncle Garrow had firmly forbidden her from working the on the field, saying that it wasn't a lady's job, but even he couldn't stop her from hunting. It was her hobby. Her joy. The heart pounding in her body, adrenaline rushing through her veins, it was what she enjoyed, and no one has ever been able to prevent her from doing that.

A light breeze caressed her red hair, which was tied in a low, short ponytail, to prevent it from getting in her eyes. Garrow always said that she inherited her hair and sharp intellect from her mother, only intensifying them - unlike her mother's, Selena's hair, which was dark red, her's was lighter shade of crimson and scarlet. Her mind, her uncle noted, was even sharper than his sister's. Those were few things she knew about her mother, who had left her with Garrow and left Angvard-knows-where. **(I'm not particularly good at describing people, so PLEASE go into my profile - I have a link for a a picture of her face I'm trying and spectacularly failing to describe!)**

Shaking those thoughts away, she focused on her prey, properly aimed the arrow at the beasts heart, and let go. It whistled through the air at a speed on human could follow, and was about to pierce the flesh, when a strange phenomenon occurred.

Area where the doe was, suddenly glowed bright emerald, so bright, that Evelyn had to cover her eyes lest she get blinded. A small explosion was heard, and then everything went silent.

Cautiously taking her arms away from her eyes, beautiful redhead looked at the sight in front of her: There lay the doe, arrowed firmly embedded in its hear, dead. But what attracted her attention was the object laying there. It was a blue, polished stone, laying there innocently.

Slowly, she notched another bow in her arrow, and advanced towards it, ready retaliate should something alien happen. After all, large blue stones don't just appear out of nowhere following an explosion.

As it turned out, there was nothing dangerous, so Evelyn picked up the stone and examined it.

Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spider webbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under her soft fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have. Evelyn found the stone both beautiful and frightening.

_'Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose?'_.

If she had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and those who used it, with great caution.

She wanted to leave the stone. It might have been dangerous, but there was something inside her telling not to. She didn't know why, but her mind and gut seemed reluctant to leave the stone lying here.

_'It could cost a lot. Maybe I'll be able to sell it?'_, sighing, she put the stone into her backpack safely and turned her stunning blue eyes to the dead doe.

_'At least, I won't be going home empty-handed'_ she thought and picked up the bloody doe after putting the used arrow back into her quiver and slugged it onto her shoulder, like a sack of meat, which it was. Ignoring the blood, she started her slow trudge towards Carvahall. Un-girly or not, she still was a female, and even a small doe like this wasn't something she could easily carry, so walk took some time.

* * *

The pearlescent moon peeked over the mountains, bathing the land in a ghostly reflection of daylight.

Everything looked bleached and flat. Near the end of her journey, she turned off the road, which continued south. A simple path led straight through waist-high grass and up a knoll, almost hidden by the shadows of protective elm trees. She crested the hill and saw a gentle light shining from her home. The house had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farm tools cluttered the other side.

The house had been abandoned for half a century when they moved in after Garrow's wife, Marian, died. It was ten miles from Carvahall, farther than anyone else's. People considered the distance dangerous because the family could not rely on help from the village in times of trouble, but Evelyn's uncle would not listen. A hundred feet from the house, in a dull-colored barn, lived two horses—Birka and Brugh—with chickens and a cow. Sometimes there was also a pig, but they had been unable to afford one this year. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick line of trees traced along the Anora River.

"It's me, Evelyn. Open the door." said Evelyn as she saw a light move behind a window. A small shutter slid back for a second, then the door swung inward. Garrow stood with his hand on the door. His worn clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. A lean, hungry face with intense eyes gazed out from under graying hair. He looked like a man who had been partly mummified before it was discovered that he was still alive.

Entering, she put the doe down and stretched the sore muscles away, yawning.

"I take it the hunt was successful?" asked Garrow with his normal, guttural voice. She nodded, keeping the strange blue stone a secret. She didn't know what it was, and until she found it out, it would be better to not let others know.

"Roran's sleeping" he answered at her inquiring glance.

"Well, I'm tired from the day. I'll go sleep" Garrow nodded and took the doe from the floor, planning to skin it.

Going to her room she took the stone from her bag and put it under her bed, a temporary place for it to reside in. Then, she took off her clothes until she was in her undergarments and a shirt, and fell onto her bed. For the first time since before the hunt, she relaxed completely as sleep overtook her.

* * *

At dawn the sun's rays streamed through the window, warming Evelyn's face. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up on the edge of the bed.

The pine floor was cold under her feet. She stretched her sore legs and rubbed her back, yawning. Beside the bed was a row of shelves covered with objects she had collected: There were twisted pieces of wood, odd bits of shells, rocks that had broken to reveal shiny interiors, and strips of dry grass tied into knots. Her favorite item was a root so convoluted he never tired of looking at it. The rest of the room was bare, except for a small dresser and nightstand.

She pulled on her boots and stared at the floor, thinking. This was a special day. It was near this very hour, sixteen years ago, that her mother, Selena, had come home to Carvahall alone and pregnant. She had been gone for six years, living in the cities. When she returned, she wore expensive clothes, and her hair was bound by a net of pearls. She had sought out her brother, Garrow, and asked to stay with him until the baby arrived. Within five months her daughter was born. Everyone was shocked when Selena tearfully begged Garrow and Marian to raise her. When they asked why, she only wept and said "I must." Her pleas had grown increasingly desperate until they finally agreed. She named him Evelyn, then departed early the next morning and never returned.

Evelyn still remembered how she had felt when Marian told her the story before she died. The realization that Garrow and Marian were not her real parents had disturbed her greatly. Things that had been permanent and unquestionable were suddenly thrown into doubt. Eventually she had learned to live with it.

_'If she didn't want me, then I see no reason to want her'_ were her thoughts about the matter. One other thing bothered her though: Who was her father? Selena had told no one, and whoever it might be had never come looking for Evelyn. She wished that she knew who it was, if only to have a name. It would be nice to know her heritage. But then again, she didn't hold all that much affection for him either - he was either dead, or never bothered himself with a child, leaving her mother once he learned about her pregnancy, or just never knew about it.

She sighed and went to the nightstand, where she splashed her face, shivering as the water ran down her neck. Refreshed, she retrieved the stone from under the bed and set it on a shelf. The morning light caressed it, throwing a warm shadow on the wall. She touched it one more time, then hurried to the kitchen, eager to see her family. Garrow and Roran were already there, eating chicken. As Evelyn greeted them, Roran stood with a grin. He was two years older than her, muscular, sturdy, and careful with his movements. They could not have been closer even if they had been real siblings.

He smiled "I'm glad you're back. How was the trip?"

"Long and hard," she replied "but uneventful", easily lying through her teeth. She felt bad for doing it, really, but she wanted to keep the stone a secret. Perhaps, it was because it might have somehow been connected to some kind of dangerous magic, and she didn't want to involve her family in it, or perhaps because Garrow might've sold it, something she didn't want, for a reason unknown to her.

* * *

Roran and Garrow had spent most of the days working in the farm, harvesting last of the barley. Next, they gathered prickly vined squash, then the rutabagas, beets, peas, turnips, and beans, which they packed into the root cellar. They were very pressed on time, so even Evelyn was allowed to assist in more minor tasks.

The following days were spent pickling, salting, shelling, and preparing the food for winter. It was a job shared by everyone, though Evelyn did the brunt of it, seeing as the males of the family did most of the hard physical work in the fields and needed rest.

* * *

Nine days after her return, a vicious blizzard blew out of the mountains and settled over the valley. The snow came down in great sheets, blanketing the countryside in white. They only dared leave the house for firewood and to feed the animals, for they feared getting lost in the howling wind and featureless landscape. They spent their time huddled over the stove as gusts rattled the heavy window shutters. Days later the storm finally passed, revealing an alien world of soft white drifts.

She was waiting for traders to come to the village. Well, everyone was, but she wanted to find out the exact value and meaning of the stone. Then, if everything went alright, she would tell Roran and Garrow about it.

"I'm afraid the traders may not come this year, with conditions this bad," said Garrow "they're late as it is. We'll give them a chance and wait before going to Carvahall. But if they don't show soon, we'll have to buy any spare supplies from the townspeople." His countenance was resigned.

They grew anxious as the days crept by without sign of the traders. Talk was sparse, and depression hung over the house. On the eighth morning, Roran walked to the road and confirmed that the traders had not yet passed. The day was spent readying for the trip into Carvahall, scrounging with grim expressions for saleable items. That evening, out of desperation, Evelyn checked the road again. She found deep ruts cut into the snow, with numerous hoofprints between them. Elated, she ran back to the house with a bright smile adorning her beautiful face, bringing new life to their preparations.

They packed their surplus produce into the wagon before sunrise. Garrow put the year's money in a leather pouch that he carefully fastened to his belt. Evelyn set the wrapped stone between bags of grain so it would not roll when the wagon hit bumps, carefully covering it from others. After a hasty breakfast, they harnessed the horses and cleared a path to the road.

The traders' wagons had already broken the drifts, which sped their progress. By noon they could see Carvahall. In daylight, it was a small earthy village filled with shouts and laughter. The traders had made camp in an empty field on the outskirts of town. Groups of wagons, tents, and fires were randomly spread across it, spots of color against the snow. The troubadours' four tents were garishly decorated. A steady stream of people linked the camp to the village. Crowds churned around a line of bright tents and booths clogging the main street. Horses whined at the noise. The snow had been pounded flat, giving it a glassy surface; elsewhere, bonfires had melted it. Roasted hazelnuts added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them.

Garrow parked the wagon and picketed the horses, then drew coins from his pouch. "Get yourselves some treats. Roran, Evelyn, do what you want, only be at Horst's in time for supper."

They pocketed the money, grinning all the while, or smiling in Evelyn's case, already planning how to spend it. Both had departed immediately with a determined expression on their faces, though for reasons completely different.

Shouldering her way through the bustle, Evelyn walked into the throng.

Women were buying cloth, while nearby their husbands examined a new latch, hook, or tool. Children ran up and down the road, shrieking with excitement. Knives were displayed here, spices there, and pots were laid out in shiny rows next to leather harnesses. There were quite some things that interested her, but now was not the time.

Evelyn stared at the traders curiously. They seemed less prosperous than last year. Their children had a frightened, wary look, and their clothes were patched. The gaunt men carried swords and daggers with a new familiarity, and even the women had poniards belted at their waists.

_'What could have happened to make them like this? Is it connected to them being so late?'_ she wondered. She remembered the traders as being full of good cheer, but there was none of that now.

She pushed down the street, searching for Merlock, a trader who specialized in odd trinkets and pieces of jewelry.

She found him behind a booth, displaying brooches to a group of women. As each new piece was revealed, exclamations of admiration followed. Evelyn guessed that more than a few purses would soon be depleted.

He seemed to flourish and grow every time his wares were complimented. He wore a goatee, looking about in late thirties, held himself with ease, and seemed to regard the rest of the world with slight contempt. The excited group prevented her from getting near the trader, so she settled on a step and waited. As soon as he was unoccupied, she hurried over.

"And what might you lady want to look at?" asked Merlock. "An amulet or trinket befitting your beauty?" Redhead simply ignored his flirting. With a twirl he pulled out a delicately carved silver rose of excellent workmanship. The polished metal definitely was a work of art, but Evelyn rarely paid attention to such vain things, especially with a limited money. She preferred things that actually held practical use. The trader continued, "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona."

Evelyn spoke in a quiet voice. "I'm am not looking to buy, but to find out value of, and perhaps sell". He immediately covered the rose and looked at her with new interest. "I see. Maybe, if this item is of any value, you would like to trade it for one or two of these exquisite pieces." He paused for a moment while she stood and waited patiently, then continued, "You did bring the object of consideration?"

"I have it, but I would rather show it to you elsewhere," said Evelyn in a firm voice. Merlock raised an eyebrow, but spoke smoothly. "In that case, let me invite you to my tent." He gathered up his wares and gently laid them in an iron-bound chest, which he locked. Then he ushered them up the street and into the temporary camp.

They wound between the wagons to a tent removed from the rest of the traders'. It was crimson at the top and sable at the bottom, with thin triangles of colors stabbing into each other. Merlock untied the opening and swung the flap to one side. Small trinkets and strange pieces of furniture, such as a round bed and three seats carved from tree stumps, filled the tent. A gnarled dagger with a ruby in the pommel rested on a white cushion.

Merlock closed the flap and turned to them. "Please, seat yourself". When she had, he said in a serious voice, "Now show me why we are meeting in private".

Evelyn unwrapped the stone and set it between the them. He reached for it with a gleam in his eye, then stopped and asked, "May I?" When she indicated her approval, he picked it up. He put the stone in his lap and reached to one side for a thin box. Opened, it revealed a large set of copper scales, which he set on the ground. After weighing the stone, he scrutinized its surface under a jeweler's glass, tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a tiny clear stone over it. He measured its length and diameter, then recorded the figures on a slate. He considered the results for a while.

"Do you know what this is worth?"

"No," answered Evelyn, "that's the reason I came to you".

Merlock grimaced "Unfortunately, neither do I. But I can tell you this much: the white veins are the same material as the blue that surrounds them, only a different color. What that material might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any rock I have seen, harder even than diamond. Whoever shaped it used tools I have never seen—or magic. Also, it's hollow."

"Really?" exclaimed Evelyn. She never really noticed.

A slightly irritated edge crept into his voice "Did you ever hear a rock sound like this?"

He grabbed the dagger from the cushion and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade. A pure note filled the air, then faded away smoothly. Evelyn was slightly alarmed, afraid that the stone had been damaged, but didn't let any of it show on her face. Merlock tilted the stone toward her.

"You will find no scratches or blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it".

Evelyn crossed his arms with a reserved expression. A wall of silence surrounded her. She was puzzled _'I knew that the stone appeared in the Spine through magic, but made by magic? What for and why?'_.

She asked "But what is it worth?"

"I can't tell you that," he said in a pained voice, "I am sure there are people who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them are in Carvahall. You would have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people—not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed".

Evelyn stared at the tent ceiling like a gambler calculating the odds. "Will you buy it?" she asked. Even thought she somehow was attracted to the stone, trader said it could have cost a lot, and money was something her family was in desperate need of.

The trader answered instantly, "It's not worth the risk. I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you wouldn't be paid until I returned next year. No, you will have to find someone else to trade with. I am curious, however . . . Why did you insist on talking to me in private?"

Evelyn put the stone away before answering. "Because," she glanced at the man, wondering if about his expression, "I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that".

Merlock gave her a startled look. "What were _you_ doing in the Spine?! Do you know why my fellow merchants and I were late this year?" Evelyn shook her head negatively, opting to stay silent.

"Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaësia. We could not avoid illness, attacks, and the most cursed black luck. Because the Varden's attacks have increased, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders, men who are needed to combat the Urgals. The brutes have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us, except that they're passing through populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and near cities. Worst of all are reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Not many people survive such an encounter".

"Why haven't we heard of this?" asked Evelyn, alarmed.

"Because," said Merlock grimly, "it only began a few months ago. Whole villages have been forced to move because Urgals destroyed their fields and starvation threatens".

"You sure? We haven't seen any Urgals in here for long time; the only one around here has his horns mounted in Morn's tavern".

Merlock arched an eyebrow. "Maybe so, but this is a small village hidden by mountains. It's not surprising that you've escaped notice. However, I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because strange things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Spine." With that sobering statement, he bid her farewell with a bow and slight smile.

"By the way, are you sure you don't want to stay here for a while? I could really use some _company_. And all this jewels are so beautiful and expensive" he asked her as she was reaching for the flap of the tent, flirty nature returning.

Inwardly, Evelyn's thoughts and reactions were far from pleasant, but she managed to reply in a calm, if not a bit strained voice, suppressing a growl and an urge to show him how it actually hurt when kicked in the irreplaceable jewels far more valuable to men than the most precious of stones, "_Yes_, I'm sure. Have a _pleasant_ day".

* * *

_'Now, I can look around for some goodies!'_ she happily exclaimed in her mind. It was time to spend her money!

And where would she go first? Well, women would go buy some clothes and jewelry, but, as mentioned before, Evelyn was no ordinary woman -well, girl, not a woman quite yet-. She went to weapon store, of course. She needed few more high quality arrows, perhaps a new, better bow, and also a new dagger. Skinning knife was only so much useful when it came to using it for something other than what its name implied, and her current dagger was well beyond sharpening.

Redhead wondered the shops and merchants for long time, looking for something to catch her eye.

_Dawson's Weapons Shop_ said the sign of a booth. Shrugging, she entered. Sure enough, there were a lot of weapons laid out, ranging from a simple dagger to a greatsword.

"Hello, miss. I'm Dawson. How may I help you?" she heard the voice. It was slightly gruff, but man himself looked quite gruff. He had coal black hair, shaved beard, large moustache, large, muscled body and small, squinty eyes and wore glasses. He was a bit... eccentric, when it came to his job.

She nodded and greeted back "Evelyn. I'm looking for about dozen arrows, a dagger, and a bow. Show me the highest quality you have". The man raised a eyebrow, clearly thinking about why a 15 year old girl would be looking for weapons, but didn't inquire about it. In fact, when she asked for a highest quality, a grin made it to his face and he nodded.

First, he came back with several bows, "Here: This one, made of Holly wood, nice and supple, good for middle ranges. Oh, and this one - made of Cypress wood, pliable, better for shorter ranges, quick to draw and shoot! And this - Hawthorn wood, bit larger than normal, good for longer ranges. Or this, made of Ash wood, very stringy, good for all ranges! And this here, is made of Reed wood, better for moderate ranges, shoots at very high velocity but has a higher-than-average arrow drop once launched".

Evelyn examined all of them. They definitely were of very good quality, but would also cost a lot. Before she could utter a word, however, Dawson continued.

"Oh, and this here is a mystery: I bought this from a group of expert mountain climbers, they said that they found it in Spine. A real beauty, this is. It was found along with a pair of daggers and 4 dozen arrows, all of same quality as this!"

Evelyn examined the bow, daggers and arrows and had to agree with the shopkeeper. It really was beautiful, with a long, elegant curve, thin, but wide silvery lines curving all around it. The daggers were no less enticing, with hilt made of polished, shiny bone, a thin, golden-bronze pommel and guard, and a black blade, which, when took the sharpening angle, became matted silver color. Over first half of the blade was yellow, and entire blade was surrounding with intricate vine-like design, weaving around it. **(Once again, I must ask you to check the picture out in the profile!)**

Arrows themselves were far more simple looking, since aerodynamic build was more important than fancy looks: made mostly of long, straight wood, For fletching, it had white feathers that seemed to be put together in a perfect formation and measurements. Arrowhead itself was very narrow, far narrower than any other she had seen, and point was extremely thin, and probably sharp too.

Much like normal females, who adored beautiful stones and clothes, she was the same. But much unlike her fellow females, she adored beautiful weapons. And these were the coolest ones she had ever seen. But, practicality came first.

"May I?" she asked, and after his nod, took a dagger. Testing, she put it onto her finger and pushed down with just _tiny _force, and was shocked. It cut through her skin almost like a hot knife through butter. She jerkily pulled it back, ignoring the small amount of blood flowing from the cut.

"Amazing…" was the only word her mouth could form as she looked at the dagger, astonished.

"Yes it is, isn't it? Why don't you try the bow &amp; arrow?" suggested Dawson. Evelyn nodded, not trusting her mouth to utter a word. Never, in her life had she seen something like this!

Taking the bow, she noted how light it felt. It was highly flexible, but seemed to snap back to its original state with near perfect accuracy and she was able to pull the string far further than on any other bow. Taking an arrow, she doubted it would actually last through the throw, since it was lighter than a pen. Notching it, she pulled back with about same length as she did with her previous, normal now, aimed at the target, which was head of a wooden bird further into fields, about 300 yards away, and let go.

She missed. But not because her aim was wrong, no, because she underestimated the strength and speed of the bow and drop of the arrow. She aimed at the angle about same as normal, which was several inches above the target, and arrow barely even dropped third of an inch!

"I have no words… Compared to a normal bow, they are worlds apart! How much for all three?" she asked, referring to the bow, 48 arrows and daggers. There were 2 daggers, but she was ambidextrous, and maybe, if she spent some time, she could train herself to fight with dual daggers. Fighting skills wasn't all that necessary in here, but it was fun, or at least that's what Evelyn thought.

"Hmm… Usually, for such exquisite works of art and genius, I'd put at least 1000 crowns on each," Evelyn's eyes nearly bugged out at the price, " but I think I can make a huge discount".

"You see, lately with all this trouble with Urgals, Varden and all, places such as Spine has gotten less and less popular, and I've had this weapons for a long time already. Besides, I don't wanna risk being seen with such weapons by the Empire, might take it from me without paying a crown, so I'll let you get all three for 50 crowns. I doubt you can ever get something of such quality for such a low price".

Evelyn bit her lip, thinking. 50 crowns was still hell a lot of money for them, and even if she used up all her saving she didn't have that much…

"How about 20 crowns?" she asked. Dawson gained an incredulous expression on his face.

"20?! 50 is already extremely low as it is! No way!"

"You said that you are risking so much just by carrying such weapons, and who knows, no one might buy this…" she trailed off with a smirk.

"40" he growled.

"35"

He mulled over it for a minute but shakily nodded, "Deal".

She accepted the handshake "Deal it is!", and left the shop with a big smile.

* * *

Later on, Evelyn, Roran and Garrow met in Horst's house for supper; it was hearty. The room was full of conversation and laughter. Sweet cordials and heavy ales were consumed in copious amounts, adding to the boisterous atmosphere.

When the plates were empty, Horst's guests left the house and strolled to the field where the traders were camped. A ring of poles topped with candles had been stuck into the ground around a large clearing. Bonfires blazed in the background, painting the ground with dancing shadows.

The villagers slowly gathered around the circle and waited expectantly in the cold. The troubadours came tumbling out of their tents, dressed in tasseled clothing, followed by older and more stately minstrels. The minstrels provided music and narration as their younger counterparts acted out the stories. The first plays were pure entertainment: bawdy and full of jokes, pratfalls, and ridiculous characters.

Later, however, when the candles sputtered in their sockets and everyone was drawn together into a tight circle, the old storyteller Brom stepped forward. A knotted white beard rippled over his chest, and a long black cape was wrapped around his bent shoulders, obscuring his body. He spread his arms with hands that reached out like talons and recited thus:

"The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not . . . but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us".

His keen eyes inspected their interested faces. His gaze lingered on Evelyn last of all.

"Before your grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for each had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them. For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of the living stone. While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep . . . for it could not last".

Brom looked down silently. Infinite sadness resonated in his voice.

"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbêth, which is no more. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as their own. Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day.

So it was that soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, and passed into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, unmelted even in summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great wounds, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically, during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted".

The storyteller clasped his hands and looked around slowly, shadows flickering across his worn face. The next words came like the mournful toll of a requiem, "Alone, bereft of much of his strength and half mad with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against any living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot, back through the Spine. Territory he had soared over effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but oftentimes he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountains, he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed in the mud and summoned the Riders.

Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings, and his body healed. He slept for four days. Upon awakening he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix, through the twisted mirror of his madness, came to believe it was the Riders' fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that and formulated a plan to exact revenge".

Brom's words dropped to a mesmerizing whisper, "He found a sympathetic Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade, he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder. When the foul deed was done, Galbatorix turned on his ally and slaughtered him without warning. The Riders found him, then, with blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him.

For years he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met a young Rider, Morzan—strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Urû'baen. Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling.

He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met. With each kill their strength grew. Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and revenge against perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves, too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more.

Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dorú Areaba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow. Galbatorix seized the moment and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. But it was not to be, for Galbatorix found him. As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword. "Then as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia.

And from that day, he has ruled us".

With the completion of the story, Brom shuffled away with the troubadours. Evelyn thought she saw a tear shining on his cheek. People murmured quietly to each other as they departed. Garrow told her and Roran "Consider yourselves fortunate. I have heard this tale only twice in my life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see the next day".

If it was another village, people would have probably reported to the Empire about a man telling such things about their king, but Carvahall was never fond of him. In fact, they treated Empire with deep hatred. The Empire never helped them during harsh years when they nearly starved, and its tax collectors were heartless.

* * *

That night she was abruptly roused from sleep. She listened carefully. All was quiet. Uneasy, she slid her hands under the mattress and grasped her new daggers. She waited a few minutes, then slowly sank back to sleep.

A squeak pierced the silence, tearing her back to wakefulness. She rolled out of bed and yanked the daggers from their sheaths. Delicately handling a tinderbox, she lit a candle. The door to her room was closed. Though the squeak was too loud for a mouse or rat, she still checked under the bed. Nothing. She sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Another squeak filled the air, and she started violently.

_'Where is the noise was coming from?'._ Nothing could be in the floor or walls; they were solid wood. The same went for her bed, and she would have noticed if anything had crawled into his straw mattress during the night. Her eyes settled on the stone. A squeak rang in her ears once again; it came from the stone! Then it gave one very loud squeak and fell silent. Soon though, the stone started rocking rapidly on the shelf, knocking against the wall. It was bathed in cool moonlight that bleached its surface. Evelyn jumped out of bed gracefully, daggers in her hands. The motion stopped, but she remained tense. Then the stone started squeaking and rocking faster than ever. With a swear highly unbefitting a lady, she began dressing. Then, the rocking stopped; the stone became deathly quiet. It quivered, then rolled forward and dropped onto the floor with a loud thump. She inched towards the door in alarm as the stone wobbled towards her. Suddenly a crack appeared on the stone. Then another and another. Transfixed, Evelyn leaned forward, still holding the daggers cautiously. At the top of the stone, where all the cracks met, a small piece wobbled, as if it were balanced on something, then rose and toppled to the floor. After another series of squeaks, a small dark head poked out of the hole, followed by a weirdly angled body. Readhead gripped the daggers tighter and held very still. Soon the creature was all the way out of the stone. It stayed in place for a moment, then skittered into the moonlight.

Evelyn recoiled in shock, gasping loudly, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

Standing in front of her, licking off the membrane that encased it, was none other than a dragon...

**Ch.1 - End!**

* * *

So, how was it? I know it might have not been too different form the canon, but it is only introduction! Battles will be greatly different, which will change the outcome of major events.

I tried to show Evelyn being different compared to Eragon, and hope that I've succeeded, at least partly.

Review and tell me what you think, critical reviews appreciated!

**RATE &amp; REVIEW!**


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